


All Fall Down

by JayWrites



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Multi, Murder, Smut, Suicide, sexy fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidada Jefferson barely escapes a horde of walkers when she runs into Shane Walsh. However, she's not sure if he will be her salvation or another enemy for her to contend with.</p><p>Alternate timeline/universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little back story for my OC I suppose. It was going to be longer but I decided to cut it. Shane's not featured in this chapter but he will be in the next one so please stick with it. Anyway... I hope yall enjoy it!

The ground was still dewy from the previous night’s rain. Kidada carefully skipped over a few puddles for fear that the tiniest splash might catch their ear. Them. The dead. After all these months it was still hard for her to get her mind around it. The news had originally referred to them as “sick” or “addicts.” Kidada mentally scoffed at the words. “Sick” were for the people you knew—friends, loved ones, even enemies—that had turned into those ravenous creatures. “Addicts” were for the strangers or, worse, the poor.

From what she could make out by the contradicting news reports, the homeless were the most infected. They were usually crackheads and tweakers. (And if they weren’t, they were coded as such anyway.) Whenever they arrived at a hospital with a report of a bad cough or a fever, most would be turned away and their symptoms dismissed as withdrawal. When the police began forcibly taking them down, very few people batted an eye at the behavior. These were dregs of society, after all. The police were heroes protecting the upstanding citizens from the horrid of the lower class. At least that was until _they_ started getting sick too. Teachers, lawyers, doctors. They would start calling in sick with an incredibly high fever. Or worse, they’d actually show up at work then hours later the police would be called to “deal with a situation.”

The city was rightfully in a panic. No one knew how it happened or how it spread. (Although there were some rumors going around about scratches.) All they knew was that their safety had been compromised. Before you had to avoid a certain area in the city. “Stay uptown, folks! Don’t go further than Galant Street. If you work downtown call in sick. Please do not try to contact love ones!” But then… Then even a simple trip to the grocery store might turn deadly. An attack was liable to spring up anywhere. Classrooms, gas stations, salons, shopping plazas, the DMV.

In an attempt to quell the ever-growing fear of the populace, the mayor addressed the issue with a live press conference. Kidada had never liked the man. He was a shady ultra conservative who seemed to possess a vendetta against people like her. Black, working class, female, queer. If she had been trans, disabled, or Muslim she would have fully hit the target on his BINGO hate card. He once gave the commencement speech at the university she taught at. After nearly thirty minutes of pure hate speech he ended the affair with two fists raised high, a toothy smile, and, “Vote for me!” It was a circus act in ignorance and bravado. Yet it still received a standing ovation. It didn’t surprise Kidada any though. Not in a small town like this. A town where the graduating class had roughly ten non-white students and she was one of two non-white esteemed professors sitting on stage. A town that took pride in imprisoning its black and brown citizens at every turn. Though she wasn’t surprised by either the speech or its reception, she still seethed with rage. When then large, bulbous man made his way back to his seat—taking care to shake the hand of every person he passed—she gave him a stare that was so intense that if it were weapons he’d been dead. Twice. The look didn’t faze him any, however. He only laughed heartily and shook her shoulders—much to the merriment of the co-worker on her right—then proceeded down the line. Ever since that day two years ago, she abhorred the man intensely.

Yet, despite this, when he took the stage the day of his press conference she found herself oddly concerned about him. It was a cool spring day but he was sweating profusely. His eyes appeared sunken in and his statement was peppered with a persistent cough. “I know,” cough, “I know that this situation is,” cough, “is… undesirable but… but…” a pause to wipe the sweat off his brow, “I know this situation is undesirable but I assure you all,” hacking cough, “I a-a-assure you all that this… this… _thing_ … will be handled swiftly.”

Kidada sat on the edge of the couch next to her girlfriend, Christina, as they watched the failed speech. Christina cracked jokes at the mayor’s expense but Kidada was too distracted to enjoy them. Sure she despised the man and watching him fail should have been sweet schadenfreude but his behavior kept her enjoyment at bay. Every cough, every long pause, every blank stare or stutter sent a chill of unease through her.

“There are,” another cough, “we have,” a line of coughs, “we have put in place desi-” a pause, “designated… arenas—areas!”

“Why won’t they just sit him down,” Kidada asked herself aloud. “He’s obviously ill.”

“Why do you care? He’s an asshole. He deserves what’s coming to him.”

“I mean, yeah… but—” The sound of shocked gasps returned the lovers focus back to the television. The mayor had fainted.

From that moment on the news focused mainly on the mayor’s worsening condition and updating reports about the spread of the infection. Cities like Los Angeles and New York were reporting an increase in cases but still neither cause nor cure had been found. Each city and state had delegated their own way with dealing with the sick. Kidada’s little town of Nowhere, Mississippi had “quarantined” them. (This was for the upper classes; the poorer folks had the lovely alternative of being shot in the head. No chances of survival or help for them.) In some states the military had been called in for “containment purposes.” The lovers watched in silent horror at the wave of news came from all over the globe of the infection spreading mixed with the foolish reiteration of “Don’t panic! Stay in your homes!”

Around midnight, in the midst of commentators discussing the possibility that the entire matter could have been caused by germ warfare from the usual roster of “enemies to freedom,” the duo received word about the local concern of their mayor. “Mayor D'Onofrio is dead,” the newscaster tearfully said. Kidada and Christina didn’t cheer at the announcement. Instead they sat in silence, mentally weighing the information of the news. “Mayor D’Onofrio’s wife and his constituents have issued a statement saying that, ‘his death was sudden but not unexpected due to his lifelong fight with illness.’ Mrs. D’Onofrio also stated that his cause of death had ‘absolutely _nothing_ to do with the infection.’” Kidada and Christina saw right through the lie and shared a knowing glance.

They decided then and there to pack up and leave. They decided it would be best to stay with Kidada’s family in Jackson. The two filled whatever bags they could find with clothes, food, and any available medicine before hopping in their car and heading for the nearest exit out of town. However, before they could get far, they found themselves stuck in a traffic jam. It seems most of the town had the same idea as them. The two sat impatiently in the sea of honking vehicles and screaming persons.

“What’s going on,” Christina asked a man passing by her window.

“I don’t know. My cousin’s a farther ahead and he says the police refuses to let anyone leave.”

“What? Why?”

The man shrugged then placed his cell to his ear. He spoked for a while in a foreign language neither of the women could discern before finally turning to them, “He says they’re saying it’s for safety reasons.”

“Safety,” Christina and Kidada both repeated incredulously.

“That’s what he said.” The man scratched the top of his thick brown hair as he tried to make out what was happening in the mile of cars in front of them. “It’s just… It’s such bullshit,” he said more to himself than either woman.

“Agreed,” Christina replied before opening her car door. “Stay here,” she said to Kidada before hopping out. “I’m gonna take a better look.”

“Chris, don’t!” But her petite lover was gone before she could hear the full protest. Kidada watched from inside the vehicle, silently saying a prayer for each ticking minute that her girlfriend was gone. “C’mon, Chris. Come back to me.” More time passed. Despite the surrounding blaring horns and myriad of conversations, she could only hear the thudding of her heart amidst her uneven breaths. Normally, she wouldn’t have been so worried. But knowing that at any moment any one of these people could come down with a dangerous fever, filled her with immense dread. For all she knew, Christina could have already been infected.

Suddenly, Kidada heard a round of gunfire. She immediately popped open the door and sprung out of the car. In spite of her fear—and reasoning—she found herself running toward the gunfire. “Chris! Christina!” She pushed past random screaming people. “Chris! Chris!” She yelped when a hand grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to the ground. “Lemme go,” she yelled as she repeatedly beat against the stranger.

“Stop! Ow! Stop!” The stranger, an older man in his late sixties, held her fists but she still fought to be free. “I’m not gonna hurt you, child!” The words didn’t comfort her any and she continued wrestling against him. “Look, look!” The man, tired of being pummeled, finally released her then pointed to the area she was originally headed. Kidada looked up and to her horror saw one of the police officers gnawing on the neck of a man.

“Wha… what?”

“That’s what it turns you into,” the man said.

Kidada looked at him then back to the scene. She tried to surmise possible reasons for what she was witnessing but produced nothing. She had never seen anything like this before. She had heard that the sickness was dangerous but she never knew _why._ The media had done an excellent job in covering up this information. Instead there were countless reports that people just “were not themselves.” Whatever that meant. That was too vague of a phrase for something so severe.

Every report always mentioned an “attack” but they never stated _how._ All of the talks about the victims “growling” and “scratching” and not a single one included the word “biting.” Perhaps a fever that turned people into insatiable cannibals was both too macabre and fantastical to be believed? Although “cannibal” seemed to be just as inapt a word. No these beings were something more. Something different.

They weren’t sautéing human livers and washing them down with a fine wine. They dug right into the flesh with their nails or teeth and pulled it apart. They shoved every raw bit of flesh and organ into their mouth and devoured it.

The fellow cops fired another round of ammo at their colleague. Kidada watched with widened eyes and mouth agape as the bullets barely affected the man. Every shot to his chest, stomach, and neck seemed to do nothing more than irritate him. The man rose then made his way to the other officers. He didn’t exactly walk, more like staggered. As if his body was dead weight. He growled and hissed as he reached forward to grab one of the men. The target officer shook as he shot twice more into the man’s chest before realizing his gun was empty. The creature—he was no longer a man, was he?—lunged forward. His jaw flexed open and shut as if he could already taste the other man’s flesh in his mouth. The officer pressed his hands on the creature’s shoulders to hold him off.

“Goddammit, help me,” he yelled to the surrounding police. “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

“We might hit you.”

“I don’t care! Shoot him!” A few more rounds went off but they greatly missed their target. (None of them wanted to accidentally shoot their colleague.) “Shoot him,” the officer pleaded. “In the goddamn head.”

One of the fellow officers found the courage to attempt a shot. He took a deep breath, then squeezed the trigger. The shot missed and landed in the side of the police van behind the doomed officer. The man took another deep breath, thereby effectively calming his nerves, then took another shot.

Kidada gasped then covered her mouth as the bullet ripped through the creature’s skull. He let out one final growl as his head jerked back before falling dead to the ground. Warm tears stung her eyes before falling down the curve of her cheek. What the hell did she just see? She turned back to the man who pulled her to the ground. She tried to compose herself before speaking but to no avail. Her tears ran down her face in streams; her breaths shuddered on their exit. As if he could read her thoughts, the man placed a hand on hers and softly answered, “It’s the end of the world, kid.”


	2. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is an alternate timeline. It takes place after the end of S2E7 "Pretty Much Dead Already."

Kidada ducked behind some stacked boxes. She peeped around the edge of the bottom box and prayed that she hadn’t been followed. The alley was clear. “Thank god,” she mumbled before removing her book bag. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a lock picking kit. As she worked on the door of the pharmacy she said a silent prayer that no alarms were activated. It would be rare that they were seeing as the power grid had been down since the pandemic began but one could never be too careful. Just last month she set one off in a store that had been running on generators. She managed to kill five freaks before ducking back out the exit. She returned an hour later in hopes that maybe the alarm had stopped (it didn’t) or that the freaks had gotten tired and dispersed (they hadn’t). The worse part, though, was that she didn’t even have the time to grab something to eat. She had to go another week without a sustainable meal. “No, Kiki,” she reprimanded herself, “don’t think about food.”

A growl was heard from behind her causing her to pause her actions. Kidada pulled a blood stained knife from her bag. She would have to do this quickly and quietly. She squatted back down against the boxes. _Please let there be only one._ The growl grew louder; followed by the sound of shuffling feet. Her heart began to pump faster in her chest. Her grip on the handle of the knife tightened. _Please let there be only one._

She saw its feet first. The shoes were tattered. Bloodied and muddy. The jeans had a rip on the leg; plus more blood and dirt. It smelled horrid. One would think after all this time she would have gotten used to the stench but she never did. The smell always hit her hard. That permanent odor of rotting flesh. Death.

The freak continued shuffling forward not noticing her crouched position. It made its way to the back of the alley. Snarling as it search for its dinner. For _her_. Kidada quickly peeked around the edge of the box. It hadn’t been followed. _Thank god._ She sprung up as quick as her weak limbs would allow, grabbed the freak by its dirtied shirt, and implanted her knife in the back of its skull.

She groaned as its dead weight fell against her. Her weak legs almost gave out under the added pressure but, thankfully, didn’t. She tried to gently place the body on the ground for fear that the slightest sound would stir the others but the creature was too heavy. She groaned as she exhausted the last of her strength and threw it off her. Its body dropped to the concrete ground with a loud thud. Kidada froze in fear that the sound had somehow echoed off the walls and alerted the others. Thankfully, they hadn’t heard it. She exhaled a relieved sigh before returning to picking the pharmacy’s door.

“Yes,” she said in a hushed tone as the lock clicked. She grinned proudly as she turned the handle and cracked open the door. She put her ear to the opening. No signs of life. (Rather _un-life._ ) She put away her lock picking kit then pulled out a flashlight from her bag. She gave one last quick look into the alley—still clear—then grabbed her bag and went inside.

Kidada tested the knob to make sure that it could be easily opened again in case this scavenge turned out like last month's. The knob repeatedly turned with a squeak but no resistance. Good. So far everything has been going pretty smoothly. If she were lucky things would continue working in her favor. She could get in and out without much fuss.

She quietly closed the door behind her and encased the room in darkness. She turned the flashlight on; it blinked twice before steadying on a dull light. “Damn.” She smacked it with her free palm in a feeble hope that the action would somehow make the light brighter. “Damn,” she repeated. “Batteries. Batteries. Batteries…”

She continued to move carefully about the room; the dim light barely illuminated more than a foot in front of her. The light landed on an opened box in front of her. She squinted as she tried to make out the name. “Dial. Hand soap.” She flashed the light to a nearby opened box. “More soap.” She moved the light to the shelves in front of her. Most of them were empty; probably long looted. There were a few overturned boxes but they were empty as well. “Figures I’d find a stock room with no stock,” she lamented.

She headed for the front of the store. The chance of finding anything worthwhile was slim but she had hope. She didn’t come all this way to not leave with _something._ Hell she’d be grateful for even a bottle of half drunken water. Kidada went to try the knob to the door that lead to the front of the store but stopped. _Careful, Kiki._ Just because the back was clear didn’t mean the front would be as well. _That’s what happened last time, remember?_ “I remember. I’ll be smarter this time.” She rested against the wall then gently turned the squeaky knob. The door creaked from disuse as she slowly inched it open. She listened for any signs of the creature. No snarling, no shuffling. Nothing. _Good. Good. Now let’s get what we need and leave._ “Got cha.”

Kidada peeked her head in the crack and surveyed the room. Lights peered in from the glass entrance and high windows but most of the place was covered in shadows. The area smelled stale from being closed up for a long period. Yet it still smelled better than the outside environment—or her for that matter—had in a while. Most of the place had, of course, been ransacked but there were still a few items on the shelves. _Maybe enough to hold us for another month._ “Or at least an extra week. Let’s get started.”

She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and unfolded it. On it was a list written long ago in another’s handwriting. Permanent creases sat in the center of the paper from where it had been countlessly un- and refolded. Next to each item were long faded red X’s. The same items were always on the list: toothpaste, toothbrush, tampons, shampoo, first aid, soap. Since she often found herself without writing utensils, she had to remember any other necessary items. _Batteries. Don’t forget the batteries._ “I won’t, babe.”

Kidada read the signs hanging overhead to navigate the aisles. “They’re probably useless anyway. Toothpaste could be next to the bandages and toothbrushes by… socks or some shit. Folks probably moved shit when they looted this place.” She turned into an aisle dedicated to oral hygiene. She sighed in disappointment at the mostly bare shelves. “See? Told you. There isn’t shit—ooh! Toothpaste!” She squatted down and pulled the last box from the bottom shelf. She quickly read the off brand name then shoved it into her bag. _Check. Next item._

There were a few cheap toothbrushes hanging at the end of the shelf. She took two—leaving one for anyone who might pass through—then moved onto the next item on her list. A few aisles over she found a couple boxes of sanitary napkins. The bulky box threatened to take up too much space in her bag so she opened it and carefully stuffed the contents inside. She continued grabbing items as she passed them. A box of twelve-count band aids, expired Ibuprofen, floss (why the hell not?), gauze, a calendar, travel size hand sanitizer, a small tube of Vaseline, socks too large for her, lip balm (again why the hell not?), cotton balls, a small bottle of iodine.

 _Batteries, darling. Don’t forget them._ Kidada plucked the few remaining batteries off the shelf. Luckily she found the proper size for her flashlight. _Change them now._ She removed the flashlight from her pocket and replaced the batteries. She turned it on to test it. Kidada smiled at the bright light. “Thank you, baby. You always look out for me.” She pulled out the list again and mentally checked each item. The only item to get now was shampoo. She found a bottle some aisles down. She opened the top and inhaled the scent. Strawberry. Her favorite.

 _When was the last time you had a strawberry?_ Kidada took another whiff as she pondered an answer. It has been so long since she tasted so many of her favorite things: chocolate, apples, chicken, peas. For the last few weeks (or was it months?) her tongue had only known the taste of stale energy bars. But when was the last time she had strawberries? Hell that was probably before the world ended. “Was it last Christmas?” _Maybe._ “No. No it was. I remember because we visited your parents and they made a strawberry cheesecake from scratch. We sat by the fire and you fed me a plate.” Happiness warmed over her at the memory. She could see the four of them sitting by fireplace chatting and laughing. She could almost feel the warm fire on her skin; and the silky strands of Christina’s hair on her fingertips as she brushed the curls from her eyes. She could even almost feel Christina’s soft, full lips on hers as she wished her a merry Christmas before shoveling another sweet bite of dessert into her mouth.

Kidada closed her eyes for a moment and gave into the memory. She could feel her lover’s manicured hands caress her cheek; she could smell her shea butter lotion. She could even see the way her hazel eyes lit up when she laughed. Soon, however, a milky film grew over Christina’s eyes. Her brown skin grew ashen. A snarl replaced her perky laugh.

Kidada’s eyes fluttered open.  “No, no, no, no.” She tossed her bag on the ground and rummaged through the front compartment. “No, no, no. Where is it?” She pulled out a few of the carefully stacked items until she found what she was searching for: an old picture. In it she and Christina posed for the camera. Their lips were puckered in a kiss; their faces were sprinkled with glitter. Cheap headbands that read “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” sat atop their head. It was the only picture she had left of her girlfriend. “Remember her this way,” Kidada told herself as she studied the picture. The longer she looked at the photo, though, sadness began to slowly loom over her. She touched her lover’s face in hopes that she could somehow feel the softness of her skin. She couldn’t of course. She never would again. That thought brought a tear to her eye.

“No,” she said with a sniff. “Don’t think about it, Kiki.” If she allowed herself to cry now she might not ever stop. Besides this was not a safe place. Giving into her emotions here—where a sea of freaks could randomly break through the glass double doored entrance—would be foolish. No matter how badly she wanted (or needed) a good cry she couldn’t allow such weakness. That’s how you ended up dead. Or worse: _one of them._

 _I’m sorry._ “No. It’s not your fault.” She sniffed again as she started putting the photo and removed items back into her bag. “I should have not lost myself. Next time I’ll be smarter.” _Yes, you will. I believe in you._ “Thank you, baby. Now…” She picked up the bottle of shampoo and shifted the weight between her hands. It was a bit too heavy. Her book bag was already a nearly packed. Even if she could make extra room for it, the shampoo would only weigh her down. Slowness was not an option. It wouldn’t matter if she only had to deal with a couple of freaks but, on her last count, there were at least fifty on the streets. There could be twice that now.

Still… She could really use a good shampoo. And bath. And a decent meal that didn’t come wrapped in paper. The mere thought of food made her stomach grumble. “Shit.” She patted her stomach. “Calm down now.” She was currently down to one energy bar and she had to have that for the long trip back to her camp. _I hope it’s still there._ “Now why would you say that,” she asked as she placed the bottle of shampoo back on the shelf and rose. _I’m just saying. It’s been two days. Scavengers could have found it by now._ Kidada groaned at the thought.

She didn’t have the energy to fight freaks _and_ humans. Not again. It didn’t work out so well for her last time. She absentmindedly ran her fingertips across the long scar on the left side of her face. A permanent reminder of the cruelty of the last fight she barely survived. Yet she came off better than her assailants. Kidada never thought she would ever cause physical harm to another human. But the world she lived in now always tested her boundaries and morals. Sure she only killed for survival but that fact didn’t settle the uneasiness it brought her. It didn’t return her sleepless nights.

Her stomach rumbled again. Shit. She needed to eat something now. “Maybe…” She headed towards the checkouts—taking special care in how she crossed the pathway of the glass doors. She had hoped to find some candy bars but the registers had already been pillaged. The only thing left behind were a few packages of gum. She opened a mint pack and popped a stick into her mouth. It was a bit stale but the flavor was still there. It didn’t quiet her hunger any though.

To make matter worse the freaks were getting restless. Their incessant snarls grew louder with each passing minute. They were probably piling up outside. She peeked over the counter to get a better look at the door. Thankfully they still hadn’t turned their attention to the pharmacy. But Kidada knew it was only a matter of time before they got curious. The longer she stayed the worse it would be for her. She had to leave now.

Yet her hunger compelled her to give one more visit to the snack aisle. Maybe she overlooked a bag of gummy bears or something. She ducked down then crawled to the corner of the counter. She looked around the edge and waited until a walker shuffled by then quickly ran to the other side of the store. Once she was in the clear, she searched every aisle hoping to find something even slightly edible. But there was nothing. Still hope and hunger wouldn’t let her give up easily. Maybe there was a box in the stock room she missed?

The door creaked as she opened it wider. She turned on her flashlight. The brighter light was much more useful than before. Most of the shelves were still empty but on one top shelf there sat a box stamped “Ritz Crackers.” _Oh god please let it be full._ She started to climb it but the shelves rattled and wobbled under her touch. The whole thing would probably come crashing down. She remembered seeing a step ladder on one of the aisles. That would help her reach. But there was also a chance of it drawing unwanted attention. But there had to be _something._

She walked back into the front of the store and frowned as she tried to figure out how to bring the box down. She snapped her fingers as a realization hit her. The actual pharmacy! There was usually a tiny waiting area where people filled out their prescriptions. She was already pretty tall so all she need was the aid of one chair.

She headed for the prescription area. Sure enough there was a tiny row of three chairs waiting patiently to be sat—or in this case stood—in. Kidada grabbed the nearest one and took it back to the stock room. The action nearly exhausted her malnourished body so she took a quick moment to sit and breathe. Once enough of her energy was restored she rose and stepped into the seat of the chair. Using the aid of her flashlight, she pushed the box closer to the edge. “All of this work,” she grumbled. “There had better be something in this fucking box.” Thankfully, there was. The box was heavy and unopened so she used her knife to cut the tape on top. She nearly cried tears of joy when she saw the many unopened boxes of crackers inside. “Thank you, Jesus,” she said in all sincerity.

She pulled out a box and ripped it open. Four tightly packed rows of crackers awaited her consumption. She pulled out a pack, tore it open, and popped a cracker into her mouth. “Mmmm…” she moaned at the crispy, buttery taste. It was surprisingly still fresh. She ate another, then another, and another until the first package was fully consumed. She started in on a second one but stopped once she remembered the long journey back to her encampment. She would need these for the trek and afterwards. She stuffed two of the packs into her bag—it was now completely full—and divided the crackers of the last one into her jacket pockets. She wanted to grab another box but there would be nowhere else to put it. She sighed as she replaced the box in its larger container. Maybe they would still be here in a few weeks when she needed more supplies. Maybe then she’ll have found a group to help her haul any goods.

She figured it was probably for the best anyway. She shined the flashlight on her watch. It was a little after three thirty. “Shit!” The sun would be setting in a couple of hours. _Leave now._ “I’m going! I’m going!”

She used the flashlight to guide her to the back exit she originally came through. She opened the door and peeked outside. From what she could see, the alleyway was clear. She smiled, turned off her flashlight and tucked it into her jean pockets, then exited the building.

The familiar growls and stench of the freaks met her the second she stepped outside. She squatted behind the stack of boxes and peered around the edge. Still clear. She crouched around to the wall. She tip toed along the wall until she got to the alley entrance. She said a prayer before looking around the corner. There was a large horde shuffling away from her. If she could remain quiet she could get to the car that sat in the middle of the street. It was only thirty or so feet away. Her heart began to beat fast. She only had one shot. If she fucked up… _No, no, no. You got this, baby. You can do it._

Kidada waited until the freaks moved a bit further from her. It was now or never. She pushed off the wall, crouched down, then made her way to the car. There was a glass bottle in the street. She stepped over it—making sure to land on her toes and not the balls of her feet—then continued forward. Debris littered the street, turning her trek into an obstacle course. Her focus constantly shifted from the ground to the freaks with each step. All her careful movements would have been for naught if one had suddenly looked in her direction. All it took was one alarming snarl and she’d be a goner.

Fortunately they continued to congregate away from her. It was as if they were following something and she were the last thing on their minds. Maybe there was some undead homing device summoning them back to hell? No! She didn’t have time to surmise possible reasons for their behavior. _Focus!_

After a few more quiet steps she finally made it to the car. That was her first checkpoint. The car was useless. It sat on three tires—two of which were flat—and had a long dead driver at the wheel. She really wished it worked. She would love nothing more than to hop inside and drive as far as the tank would allow. But wishful thinking didn’t help her now. She could only think strategically.

Her next checkpoint was a couple blocks away. If she could make it there she then would have to make it to the main road which lead to the freeway. Amongst the graveyard of vehicles she had hidden her motorcycle. She would then take that out into the woods where she now called home. But she had to make it past the next two blocks first. _You got this._ “I know,” she whispered before glancing over the hood of the car. The freaks were still heading south. If she could keep low and quiet as she bobbed and weaved through the trash and few cars and buses she’d be home free.

She rose and headed for a bus that had long ago collided into a storefront. Right as she was about to step over another glass bottle she heard a loud rattling noise. The sound made her freeze. She hoped to god the freaks hadn’t heard it. She looked back; they were still walking away. She exhaled a relieved sigh then began making her way towards the bus again. Before she got two steps down, however, that ratting noise happened again. This time it was even louder.

She heard the snarls before she even looked back. Two freaks had heard the commotion and were steadily making their way toward it—and her. _Fuck!_ Two she could take. Maybe. If they attacked her at the same time she would put up a fight. That wouldn’t be quiet at all. Two could turn into twenty real fast. She decided against it. _Run! Just run!_ Her safety was compromised. Only survival mattered now. She had to get far ahead of the danger.

She ducked behind the bus then hopped over the hood of two crashed cars. Meanwhile the rattling continued. She could kill who- or whatever ruined her plan! The loud rattling persisted followed by snarling then barking. The last sound surprised her. Right as she passed another alley, a dog poked its head out from the corner and barked at her again. Spittle flew from its mouth as it growled and bared his teeth. It was obviously hungry and, like the freaks, had marked her as its next meal.

Adrenaline pumped through her; her muscles burned and ached as she picked up her knees and ran faster. She was almost to the second block. She couldn’t stop running, of course, but the knowledge that she was almost free spurned her on. Her book bag bounce on her back with every footfall. Her heart pounded faster and faster. She was almost there. The street sign she used as a marker was nearly within her reach. _Don’t stop! Don’t stop!_ _I won’t! I won’t!_

The pounding in her chest and ears nearly drowned out the dog and freaks. She was so close now. Just a few more feet. Elation ran through her. She was going to make it! When she was just a foot away from the sign, she felt a row of sharp teeth clamp down on her calf.

Kidada yelled as she fell hard to her knees. She looked back at the dog and kicked its snout. It only shook its head and bit down harder in response. She screamed again then kicked the animal once more. Again it wouldn’t budge. It wanted her. She was his. He wasn’t going to let her go until he filled his belly with every piece of her. As she continued fighting the dog, the freaks grew closer in on them. There were at least a hundred. If the dog didn’t get her they would. Either way, death by evisceration was not on her to-do list. Not today.

She felt the dog’s teeth pulling at her flesh. She was certain that her skin would finally give way and it would find its mouth filled with a large chunk of her calf. She opened the flap of her jacket and pulled her trusted knife from her belt. She had never killed a dog before; she never even accidentally wounded one with her car. Yet she slide the blade through its eye socket with great ease. The dog released her from its mouth and whimpered as it fell on its side. It wasn’t dead. Not yet. The freaks would take care of that for it.

Kidada groaned as she rose. She hissed in pain as she tried to stand on her wounded leg. Now she was really shit out of luck. The sun would be setting soon and she was still in the middle of the city with a bum leg. But she was still ahead of the horde. If she kept moving maybe it would stay that way. She headed towards the main road. Her weak leg dragged behind her; her energy was now nearly spent. She wasn’t even moving at half her original speed. Yet still she persisted. The fear of a gruesome death outweighed any pain or tiredness.

She continued moving. Step; drag. Step; drag. Suddenly she heard the dog whimper from behind her. Her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look back at it. The freaks had caught up to it. They tore at its face, stomach, limbs until it was nothing but a bloodied mess on the ground. Kidada found herself overcome with sympathy for the poor animal. That was until she noticed the freaks had set their sights on her. _Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! Go!_ “I’m trying!”

She tried her best to run but could only manage a decent hobble. Yet her determination pulled her past one block, then another, and another. She looked behind her. The freaks were close—too close. She wasn’t going to make it. She might as well give up now. _Don’t talk like that! Keep moving!_ “I… I can’t,” she panted. _Yes, you can!_ “No, I can’t!” Yet she continued limping towards the main road. She really didn’t want to give up but her body was breaking down on her. Even if she could somehow survive the freaks how in the hell would she make it home? Shit how would she even make it to the freeway? She needed a miracle.

“Please god,” she prayed as she felt her knees buckle under her, sending her exhausted body to the ground, “save me.”

She rolled onto her back. The freaks were closer now. Her knife was still in her hand. She raised it; her eyes darted around the freaks as she tried to assess which of them would be her first target. Before she could find one, a gunshot went off overhead. One of the freak’s head jerked back before it fell lifeless to the ground. Another shot; another fallen freak.

Kidada had no idea what was happening but she was sure God had answered her prayer. More shots rang out before she heard voices. Living voices.

“Stop shooting goddammit,” a male voice said.

“Grab the girl,” a different male commanded.

“Shit she’s bitten,” this one was female.

“So,” the second male said. “No one gets left behind, remember? Grab her!”

“He’s not gonna like this,” the female said.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” More gunfire.

“Goddammit! I said stop shooting,” the first man yelled.

Kidada grew confused with everything taking place around her. She felt strong arms lift her off the ground. “Can you walk,” a different man—the third—asked her.

“Yes,” she replied. She tried to stand but her weak leg gave out. She swore in pain before leaning back against the man.

“It’s okay. We got you. Marcus, help me.”

A second man wrapped her arm around his neck. He carried a large, black duffel back on one shoulder. He shifted the weight of it but didn’t seem to be really bothered by it or her. Kidada figured this was probably due to his large, muscular build. He had probably lifted things twice her size before. “Better,” the man asked. Kidada nodded. “Everyone, move out!”

Kidada tried to keep up to the speed of the men carrying her with her good leg. Thankfully, the group seemed to be going the same way she was. They turn left onto the main road then made another right a few streets in then a left. Unfortunately the gunfire had drawn a mass of freaks in their direction. Kidada wasn’t sure they would make it out of the city. “Just leave me. I’m slowing you down.”

“Damn right you are,” the woman agreed before stabbing a freak in the back of the head. She moved onto the next one without the slightest hesitation.

“Shut up, June,” the first man said. He turned to Kidada, “We’re not leaving you. No one gets left behind. Peter, the gate!” Without saying a word, Marcus dropped Kidada’s arm and the heavy duffel bag then helped the woman fight as Peter attempted to open the gate.

“Goddammit! It won’t budge,” Peter said as he still fumbled with the lock.

“Shoot it,” the woman said.

“No,” Marcus replied. “That will only bring more walkers!”

Guilt rose in Kidada as she watched as the small group tried to fight off the incoming walkers. They had saved her life the least she could do was return the favor. She patted her belt but couldn’t find her weapon. “Where’s my knife,” she asked the man still carrying her.

He pulled it off his belt and handed it to her. “You’re sure you’re strong enough to fight?”

“Let me go and we’ll see.” The man dropped her arm leaving Kidada to maintain her full weight solely. She winced in pain before limping towards a freak. It reached out for her but she grabbed its shirt and drove her knife through its eye. Another one came and she bobbed its grasp before embedding her knife in the back of its skull.

She continued fighting alongside this group of strangers—saviors—until Peter called out, “It’s open! Let’s roll!”

Before Kidada could even move on her own, Marcus and the third man scooped her up again and carried her through the gate. Peter and the woman stayed back to make sure that the gate was securely fastened again before joining the rest of the group. They travelled on the road for a little ways before stopping upon a white van. Marcus banged three times on the back door then stepped aside to allow them to open.

A man stood in the doors. His head was shaved and his skin was tanned from the Georgian summer sun. His build was impressive; it was obvious he was well fed. Wherever he resided he wasn’t scrounging for his next meal like Kidada was. His face twisted in disapproval as his eyes sized her up. “Who the fuck is this,” he gruffly asked.

“We found her,” the first man answered.

“I told you no scavengers.”

“She’s wounded.”

“Fuck that got to do with us?”

“No one gets left behind,” the man repeated what Kidada assumed was his mantra.

“We don’t have enough resources for an extra person. What—”

“Shane,” another female voice cut him off, “it’ll be dark soon. We gotta get out of the city.”

Shane rubbed the back of his head and tensed his jaw. “Fuck! Y’all get the supplies?”

“As much as we could,” Marcus answered as he lifted the large duffle bag on his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Shane repeated. “Alright. Get in the van. All of you.”

The group loaded up the van then climbed inside before carefully helping Kidada into the vehicle. Shane banged twice on the roof signaling to the driver that they were ready to take off. Once they were in movement, the first man crouched in front of Kidada and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Xavier.”

She shook his hand. “Kidada.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks.”

“You have group, Kidada?”

“Not anymore. I’ve been on my own for a while now.” She heard Shane scoff at her answer. He was still standing up in the moving vehicle; a hand was on the wall behind him to steady himself. He sucked his teeth as he eyed her. His stare was intensive, piercing. She didn’t appreciate his hostile demeanor but she understood it. Just because they were all living didn’t mean they weren’t any less dangerous than the dead. One had to be wary of any living person you met. She had learned that lesson the hard way. Still she figured it was up to her to show that she wasn’t an adversary. They were her saviors after all. “Thank you—all of you—for saving me. I owe you more than my gratitude.”

“You goddamn right you do,” Shane retorted before squatting down next to her. He leaned in towards her so that their faces were barely inches apart. “I don’t know you, Kidada, therefore, I don’t trust you. All I trust is my group.” He signaled to the rest of the van with a tilt of his head. “If at any point I feel you might fuck up what we got going,” he grabbed her wounded leg and squeezed it tightly causing her to scream; he covered her mouth with his other hand, “I will shoot you in the other fucking leg and leave you for walker bait, understand?” Kidada’s eyes grew wide as she nodded behind his palm. “Good.” He released her, rose to his feet again, then headed for the front of the van.

Kidada looked back at Xavier for an explanation. “That’s Shane. He’s sort of our leader,” he explained. He then pulled out a large first aid kit from under one of the seats then removed some bandages and a roll of gauze from it. He gently rolled up her pant leg and hissed at the large bite on her calf. “That looks bad.”

“It feels bad. Is he always this… intense,” she asked with a wince as he began to bandage her leg.

 “You ain’t seen nothing yet, kid,” Xavier replied as unrolled the gauze. “He’s even worse when he’s in a bad mood.”


	3. Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know. I know. It took me forever to update this. Life has been a bitch and my creativity has been an even bigger one. But I think I’m ready to start refocusing on this fic now. Hopefully another nine months doesn’t pass between chapters lol.
> 
> Anyway… I hope yall enjoy and thank you all for being patient with me.
> 
> This is a long ass chapter fyi. So sorry. Hope it's a good read tho.

The ride was excruciatingly long and bumpy. Every jolt increased the agony of Kidada’s wounded leg. She was grateful when the van finally stopped moving. “All right,” Shane’s brusque voice called from the front seat. He rose then stood in the center of the vehicle. “Xavier, take her to Dr. Meyers. Tell him I want an update as soon as he can. Marcus, you and Pete take the supplies to Davidson. June, bring me the report on the walls from Edwin. Tell him y’all didn’t find any hardware stores and—no, just tell him I want to speak to him.” The people nodded and without a second of hesitation obeyed his orders.

Xavier grunted as he lifted Kidada out of the van. She winced in pain as her body bobbed with every step he took. “Sorry,” he apologized when he noticed her discomfort.

“Ah! No, you’re fine.” The walk from the van to the front steps of the house wasn’t far but her pain made the distance seem like miles.

“Hey,” Shane called after Xavier, “tell Meyers not to use the good stuff. That’s for our people.” Xavier began to protest but Shane held up his hand. “I mean it.” The man nodded then continued carrying the wounded woman up the front steps and into the house.

Shane spat on the ground as he followed the last group out of the back of the van. Felicia, the driver, followed behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. “You have anything for me, boss?”

“Tire’s getting low,” he said as he kicked the back right one. “Probably only got a few more miles on it before we need to replace it.”

“We passed a few cars a while back. I can get Trevor and Lee to help me strip them. Maybe we can use the parts on the other vehicles here.” She tilted her head toward a run-down car that sat off to the side of the house. An older balding black man—her father—was working under the hood. “Dad’s been trying to make that damn engine turn over for weeks now. If he succeeds we’ll have another car for when this baby,” she smacked the side of the van, “finally gives out.”

“Yeah,” he ran his fingers over his bottom lip as he thought it over. He didn’t like the idea of sending three of his people back out behind the walls. Especially since none of them were particularly excellent shots. “I tell you what,” he said after a moment, “first thing in the morning I’ll send y’all out. I’ll have Marcus go along with you.”

“‘In the morning?’” she questioned with a frown.

“Yeah. The sun’ll be setting,” he looked at his watch, “in half an hour. I ain’t gonna send y’all out there with those geeks walking around.”

“But I’m fast. I can get—”

“No, goddammit,” he barked. He liked Felicia fine but she always had a need to prove herself. This desire had gotten worse after their last attack.

Last month, scavengers had broken into their camp and stolen most of their food and supplies. Shane was away on a run when it happened. He returned in the middle of the melee and wasted nearly half of what was left of their resources putting down the insurgents. Felicia—the poor woman—ran into one of them. In spite of all the training Shane insisted upon, she froze. Even when they raised their knife and threatened to gut her, she remained still. Her fear had taken over. She stood wide eyed and quivering. Her focus shifted from the man’s crazed expression to the shining blade in his hand. Still she couldn’t move; she couldn’t even scream. Right before he brought his weapon down, a knife slide through his throat. A second stab came down on the back of his skull.

Felicia remained silent and shaking; the blood of her would-be attacker painted her face. Shane stood before her with a bloodied knife in his hand; his lips turned downwards in silent indignation. He said nothing to her for a week until she offered to be the new driver. (Their old one died in the conflict.) Shane initially refused her help but Andrea talked him into it. Since then Felicia had been trying her best to prove that her freezing was a one-time fluke. Shane usually admired and appreciated her determination but now he was too tired to deal with her persistence.

His day was trying enough before Xavier decided to pick up a stray person as if he was running a kennel. They barely had enough resources for the people already living here. They didn’t need another person to take care of. Especially a wounded one. That was food and medicine that they didn’t have to spare. Plus, he didn’t trust outsiders.

The woman said she had no group but she could have easily been lying. Or worse, she _did_ have one but was either kicked out or caused some great harm to befall them. The thought that the camp could be hit with danger again so soon filled him with added stress. Stress he neither wanted nor needed.

“Fuck,” he grumbled under his breath. He could really use a drink. A double shot of any hard liquor would do. He looked over at Felicia. She was still standing by his side awaiting either approval or dismissal. He rested his hand on her frail shoulder. “Listen… I can’t risk losing you,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “I’ll talk to Marcus tonight after dinner. See if he’s up to heading back out so soon. If so… then tomorrow morning we’ll come up with a plan and sort out all the details, okay?”

She obviously wasn’t too pleased with the idea. She didn’t like to be babysat but she knew arguing with him wouldn’t work in her favor. “Sure,” she replied with a weak, dissatisfied smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Shane watched her walk off in the direction of her tent before hopping up the front steps. He nodded at two women—Trisha and Deanna—sitting on the porch then entered the house. He was greeted by a few people as he walked through the living room, down the hall and into a back room that acted as a makeshift hospital room.

Inside the room Xavier held down Kidada by her shoulders as she bit down on a belt and screamed. Dr. Meyers was busy trying to keep her legs still as he repeatedly stuck a needle into her wounded calf in order to sew up the gaping holes. He had to cut some dead tissue before he began stitching. This added to his discomfort.

Shane folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame as he observed the scene. A myriad of thoughts flooded his mind as he silently studied Kidada. All of them landed on her possible duplicitous nature. He was tempted to command Meyers to halt his operation so he could quickly interrogate her. She would probably be more willing to answer his questions with a half-sutured leg. If he found her answers satisfactory, he could offer her some pain medication as a reward. If not, he would have Xavier toss her back out the gates into her death.

Shane pushed the thought away. He wasn’t above giving a suspicious character the third degree but his plan was, well, dumb. A lazy, half-assed idea conjured by an exhausted mind. Xavier would never toss the poor woman back out. He brought her in after all. Peter or Trevor would without a moment’s hesitation but not him. Dr. Meyers would never stand for it either. He was adamant about keeping his Hippocratic oath. Even now. After the last attack he and Xavier were the main opponents to killing the surviving scavengers. Their protests were for naught of course. There was no way in hell Shane would just let the men go. He refused to risk the chance of them returning with a larger crew and more weapons. When Xavier suggested maybe reforming them so they could join their group, Shane nearly cursed the man out. That was an even _worse_ option! Newcomers could not be trusted. Especially not the feral ones who only dealt in pain and death.

Shane’s focus shifted back to the two men and Kidada. He still hadn’t decided what to do with her. If he decided she could be trusted—and that was a large if—there was still the problem of caring for her. The strain on medicine alone would be too great. He mentally cursed the predicament as he observed the scene before him. After watching the men wrestle with their patient for a moment, he finally decided to help. He grabbed Kidada’s kicking legs and held them down. “Thank you,” Meyers said before working to finish sewing up the wound.

Kidada continued to scream out each time the needle pierced her skin. Shane watched tears fell down the curve of her cheek as her teeth sunk further into the belt. Her hands were balled into tight fights. Her body jerked in pain. All of this was a natural reaction to having an operation of any sort performed on her without something to numb her. Finally the pain was too much and she passed out. Meyers was grateful that he could work quicker without the resistance; Shane was happy for the silence.

Shane stood back and watched the doctor’s skillful hands finish sewing the wound. He gave instructions to Xavier, who acted as his nurse, as he moved onto seeing about other scrapes on the woman’s body. Shane watched for a bit longer before sucking in a breath and saying, “Doc, give me a report once you’re finished.” Meyers’ attention was mostly on his patient but he gave a short nod in Shane’s direction to inform him that he had heard the request.

Finally, Shane turned out of the room then headed back down the hall and up the stairs. At the end of the hall sat the doors to a master bedroom. Shane turned the knob and entered the room. The bed was still rumpled from last night’s sleep. A desk sat next to a large window that filled the room with natural light. Normally, he loved looking out it on rare quiet days and taking in the beauty of the surrounding land. Sometimes he would be so wrapped up in the breathtaking sight of the environment that it was easy to forget he was living in an apocalypse. Well… Almost.

He would never fully allow himself to get too comfortable in the seemingly quiet isolation of the house. He knew first-hand how dangerous that was. No place was safe in this new world. Especially not idyllic homesteads like this one. That was something his former group had forgotten.

Shane muttered a curse as he took the seat at the desk. He hoped that if he turned his back to the outside scenery the creeping memories would cease. They didn’t. They continued to bombard his mind like the uncivil invaders they were. How many nights had he lost to them? How many moments of solitude? Would they ever stop pestering him? Guilting him into reflecting on the life he used to have? “Shit,” he muttered as he rubbed the back of his head.

_How much of a life was it anyway?_

He wasn’t exactly living the high life before the world ended. He was stuck in a loveless relationship with some woman whose name he couldn’t even remember. She had green eyes. He only remembered that because he could vividly recall the countless times she rolled them at him. He also remembered the distinct way her voice raised at least three octaves when she was angry. (Which, unfortunately for him, was more often than he liked.) But other than that she was a ghost. Lost to an old world. Forgetting her was easy. What was hard was forgetting _them_. Rick, Lori, Carl.

Shane was an only child. His father died when he was ten and he lost his mother when he was nineteen. The only remaining family that he had was Rick Grimes. The skinny boy he had known all his life. His best friend. His brother.

They were inseparable growing up. It was almost as if one couldn’t live without the other. Yet as the years passed, their varied interests threatened to divide them. Shane was smart but his pursuits focused mostly on athletics: basketball, football, baseball. His young mind was obsessed with the praise and popularity that sports awarded him. Rick, however, focused mainly on academics. His goal was college. Although, he never was quite sure what he wanted to major in. He was more concerned with getting out of the small town he called home. (They both were actually.) In spite of their different passions, their friendship continued to flourish. Rick never missed any of Shane’s games. Likewise, Shane would help his inept friend find dates.

They were a glorious pair. Nothing could come between them. Not different social circles, budding interests, time. “The modern Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid,” Rick’s father would say.

But it was not to last. The moment _she,_ the effervescent Lori, came into their lives, everything changed. It was Christmas when Shane was first introduced to her. He and his best friend were both twenty. Rick had recently returned home from college. Well, not quite. The truth was he had dropped out his first semester freshman year. It turned out that academic life wasn’t for him after all. He has spent the last two years drifting between odd jobs.

Rick revealed the shocking news to Shane last summer. “I’m looking for my place in the world.”

“A smart boy like you not making good on his intelligence is a waste,” Shane retorted. “Your pops is gonna kill you.”

“Not if you don’t say anything. I have to do this in my own time.”

That “time” occurred a full year later at the Grimes’ Christmas dinner. Rick figured that his father wouldn’t yell at him in from his company, Lori. He was right but the old man tore into him privately. But he did publicly demand an explanation. All that wasted money had to be accounted for. Rick, unfortunately, didn’t have an appropriate answer. He just knew that college wasn’t for him.

Shane shook his head at the answer. It was foolish to him but he kept silent. He wouldn’t speak out against his best buddy, even when he was so obviously wrong. “But some good did come out of all it, pop,” Rick said before lovingly grabbing Lori’s hand. “If I had never dropped out, I wouldn’t have met Lori.” Mr. Grimes was equally unsatisfied with is answer as well but kept his thoughts to himself. Shane, however, found himself overcome with an odd feeling. One he couldn’t quite pin down. This feeling, this odd rumbling in the pit of his stomach, would rise up every time he saw Rick with Lori.

Lori didn’t catch Shane’s attention at first. He was in a “relationship”—mostly sexual—with a co-worker. Lori didn’t even appeal to him. But every time Rick’s eyes lit up when he spoke of her, every touch or kiss between them, every shared story of their sex life gradually enthralled Shane to her. He soon found it hard to push her from his memory. But _why_ was she so damn fascinating? She was pretty, yes, but Shane had seen countless pretty girls before her. Was it because he knew that he couldn’t have her?

She belonged to Rick. His first and only love. Shane wouldn’t tamper with that. It would be cruel, right? To take this pretty little thing from his best friend. And Shane _could_ have her. He might not have been The Shane Walsh anymore; the high school athletic hero who could bed any girl on reputation alone. That Shane died when he busted his knee senior year. Still the Shane now was just as charismatic as his younger self and hardly ever found his bed empty. Seducing Lori would have been so easy. Especially since the fact that she wanted him as well.

On more than one occasion he caught her eyeing him behind Rick’s back. Watching him move about the room at parties; or glancing in his direction over a Grimes’ Sunday dinner. Their conversations were often short but laden with muted desire. Sometimes Rick would be across the room, and Shane and Lori would repeatedly find themselves trapped in flirtatious conversations about the weather. Handshakes in meetings and farewells always lasted too long. Every cordial encounter was layered with their unspoken lust.

There was a red line neither of them could cross. Yet they did. After months dancing around stolen glances and teasing conversations, they crashed into each other.

They and Rick were supposed to meet at a local eatery for dinner but Rick got held up by an important matter. He didn’t want them ruining their evening on his account so he suggested they continue on without him. The duo spent a half hour dancing around menial conversation failing to ignore the desire building between them. All it took was a touch. His hand on her knee followed by a quick wetting of her lips. A gruff “Let’s get out of here” whispered in her ear and a consenting nod. Five minutes later they found themselves naked on the living room floor of his apartment.

Afterwards, Lori was immediately overcome with guilt and shame. She apologized and pleaded for secrecy as she stumbled about the room in search of her clothes. Shane, however, didn’t regret it. He knew there should have been some part of him that burned with remorse. This was his best friend’s girl after all. Something deep inside him should’ve sparked some level of self-flagellation. Yet there was none.

Any regret he _did_ feel was due to his burgeoning feelings toward her. The incident was supposed to suppress any desire the duo had for one another. While it seemed to have quelled hers, it inflamed his.

From that evening on, Lori took great pains to distance herself from him. No longing glances at dinner or cornered flirtations at parties. Every meeting and parting was curt and cold. Yet her actions did nothing to spurn his want. How could he smother the longing in his chest to reach out for her; to grab and kiss her? How could he just forget about that night? Erase it from his memory? To his credit, though, he didn’t act upon his desires. Regardless of how badly he wanted to, he knew he had to ignore them.

He tried to resume the role of good friend to Rick. But every time he saw him so much as talking to Lori, that odd rumbling in his stomach reemerged. Jealousy. That was the beast’s name. The so-called “green eyed monster” that burrowed beneath his skin every time he saw them kiss or flirt.

Shane loved Rick. He was his best friend, his brother, his partner-in-crime. But he was tired of him winning. Their small town idolized Shane as long as he was winning countless trophies and putting their name on the map. But that died when his career did. Now he was the washout; the twenty-something has-been with no career trajectory (even though he recently joined the police academy) who thought with his dick first and his brain never. His only redeeming quality was his friendship with Rick.

The townsfolk adored Rick. The kind-hearted kid who could be mischievous, yes, but never malicious. The brilliant boy who would achieve anything he set his mind to. The people were similarly surprised and disappointed when he decided not to pursue a collegiate career; but they knew he was a reasonable lad and would never act without careful thought. He was the “good one” in the Grimes/Walsh duo. Shane was long tired of hearing the mountain of praise bestowed upon his good friend. It was like watching a child being applauded for shitting in the toilet and not the sink.

It was Shane who convinced Rick to join the academy. Likewise, it was he left in the dust as Rick quickly rose amongst the ranks. And now amid all the adulation and accolades, he gets Lori too? Why does Rick get everything when he had nothing? That was the thought pounding in Shane’s head when, only a month after their tryst, Rick announced his plans to marry Lori.

The shock of it rendered Shane momentarily mute before he finally croaked out a weak congratulations. He bit back his bitterness two weeks later when Rick paraded her engagement-ringed finger at another Sunday dinner. And he tried—truly!—to keep his jealousies under control at the engagement party a month after that but a man could only take so much.

He pulled her into the hall and asked a simple: “Why?”

“Because I love him,” she replied in a whisper as she freed herself from his grasp.

“See, I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe, Shane.”

He rubbed the top of his head as he thought. He started to speak again but other guests entered the hall; this was not a safe place. He pulled her onto the back porch then spoke again, “What about us?”

Again she wrestled out of his vice-like grip. “There is no us! There was one night. A night that shouldn’t have happened.”

“You don’t mean that. And you don’t love him. And you sure as shit can’t marry him!”

“Really?” she scoffed. “Watch me.”

And he did. He watched her march down the church aisle in an all-white, off the shoulder gown a year later. He watched her promise fidelity to Rick before exchanging “I dos” and kisses. He watched them share their first dance as a couple; then another one the following year at their anniversary dinner. He watched as Rick tearfully consoled her after two miscarriages. He watched the mixture of elation and fear on Rick’s face when he told him about the third pregnancy. He watched her stomach grow as the months passed. He watched them both smile as they introduced little Carl Grimes to him. He watched the years pass before him as Rick lived what should’ve been Shane’s life.

With each passing moment, the bitterness in Shane’s heart grew. He had often privately joked that the only way he’d get Lori and the life that came with her was if the world ended.

 _God works in mysterious ways._ The preacher said that one Sunday when Shane was a young boy. He never quite believed it until he saw the works for himself.

It was a routine day at first. He and Rick sat in their police vehicle shooting the shit when they got a call about some escaped convicts. Everything happened so fast. The high speed pursuit. A blur of swearing and bullets. Rick was on the ground, blood pouring from a wound. Shane’s chest near bursting with panic. The flashing ambulance lights. The confusing medical conversations with the doctor. The words “He’s in surgery” followed by “…significant amount of blood loss… transfusion…” before finally “The operation was a success.” That quick shared elation with Lori and Carl before the heaviness sunk back in with the added: “He’s in a coma.”

Lori cried into his arms. It was the first time he held her since that night so many wasted years ago. Little Carl hugged his waist. Though, he knew he shouldn’t have, Shane reveled in it. This… this felt right. This felt normal. No, he was not glad that his best friend, his brother was harmed, but he could not hide his joy.

This was his opportunity now to show Lori that he could be the one for her. Her new Rick. He would look after her and Carl until Rick awoke. Well… _if_ he awoke. A coma could last anywhere from a few months to years. Who knew? But in that time, she would need help and he’d be there. In that time, he would win her heart.

Yet it seemed God was not yet finished working. Only a month had passed—not nearly enough time to endear himself back into Lori’s good graces—before news broke out about some odd behavior. Large cities were being shut down left and right. People were becoming sick at alarming rates. Then the military got involved. Matters worsened rapidly after that.

Shane was visiting Rick when he overhead some nurses talking about a commotion on the lower floors. He couldn’t make out much but the words “scratching,” “dead,” “biting,” “frightening,” “military,” and “possible quarantine” were used. It was enough to pique his interest so he snuck down to a few floors via the stairwell. His foot was barely on the bottom step when he heard screaming followed by the indistinguishable sound of clips unloading. Whatever was happening was beyond serious.

He rushed back to Rick’s floor to find the place already in disarray. Apparently the workers had been warned of the tragedy unfolding several floors below. A mass panic ensued. Everyone scrambled for various exits leaving the patients to their fates. Shane could not just leave Rick. He had to do something.

First, he attempted to remove the plugs and wirings around him but couldn’t decipher the machines. What exactly did each of them do? Which ones were keeping him alive? Could he have been harmed if they weren’t properly shut down and removed? He needed help.

Shane tried to petition the nurses but it was all in vain. Their only concern was getting out of the building before the military made their way to the floor. Panic set in but Shane remained calm. Pressure hardly ever fazed him. The solution, he figured, would be to block the entrance to Rick’s room. He looked around the area but all he could find was Rick’s unused tray table. It wasn’t much—it wasn’t anything—but it would do. For now anyway. The goal was to fool any threats from considering entering the room. Once everything had died down, he could possibly return and sneak Rick out. Besides the close sounds of screams and gunfire didn’t leave him with many other options.

Shane quickly closed and barred the door. Nurses and hospital personnel rushed around him in a frenzy. “Oh my god, run!” one screamed before tripping over something. He glanced behind him in a panic, then rose to his feet, and took off down the hall. Shane followed the direction the nurse looked and saw heavily armored military coming his way. He gave one last glance at Rick’s room before sprinting down the hall.

He had to sneak down the stairwells. He could hear the military’s heavy booted feet marching up the overhead steps. Any sound in such a small area would give his presence away. He often ducked between floors, changing stairwells for safety. They had nearly every exit covered. The hospital entrance was a non-starter. A few people tried to bum rush it but were immediately shot down for their effort. The back entrance was the same. A few janitors ushered him and many others out through a side door. It lead to countless dumpsters sitting in front of a high barb wired fence. One of them cut an exit and the group made it out safely.

By the time Shane made it to Lori’s, she had already heard of the incident in passing gossip with the neighbors. She had been talked out of driving down to the hospital by her elderly neighbor. “If it is true, dear, what can you do but risk getting shot too?” All she could do was wait and pray. Two of the most useless things possible in a situation like this. Her only relief was seeing Shane’s beat up old Cadillac pull into her driveway.

The vehicle barely made it to a full stop before she rushed out the house and bombarded him with questions. “Shane! Shane, what happened? Where’s Rick? How is he? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay!”

All he had to do was say two simple words to ease her worried mind. A simple “He’s fine” or “Everything’s okay” and she’d relax back into a semi-calm state. In truth, he had every intention of doing so but he figured if God had finally heard his prayers, if God had finally done him this solid, who as he to dismiss it? He rested his hands on Lori shoulders, looked her square in the eyes, and said, “Lori… He’s dead.” She collapsed into a grief-sickened lump in his arms. He spent the rest of the evening consoling her and little Carl.

When they finally drifted off to sleep late that evening, Shane remained awake, staring up at the ceiling convincing himself that he had done no wrong. After all, there was a very high possibility that Rick _was_ dead. Lost in all the chaos. If the military hadn’t already gotten him, then the lack of proper staff care would soon do him in. It was all a matter of time. The way Shane saw it, this was the best for them. Better to mourn now than be sick with worry while the world fell to shit around them.

Not soon after the hospital incident, the military began quarantining the outlining neighborhoods. Entire areas were cut of leaving very few open roads for escape. Shane heard about a close city that was free of “the sick” so he packed up Lori and Carl and headed out. Unfortunately, the roads were congested. Many other people were fleeing to their own safe havens. With nowhere to go, the trio camped out on the side of the road for three days. It was during this time that they witness the city being under a full-fledged attack. Countless planes dropped items—bombs? chemicals?—onto the city leaving a large fiery mushroom cloud and, no doubt, countless dead in its wake.

Lori looked on with a mixture of fear and gratitude. She had no idea what this meant or what the future held for her and her son. But she was thankful for Shane. He had risked his life to save theirs. In all this time, he had remained a steadfast friend to her late husband. Caring for them when he didn’t have to. She appreciated him in a way she never thought possible. Soon she began to look at him anew. Not with love but as one does a hero. He was nothing if not that.

A month into their new hell, they had now found a home at a campsite among a group of fellow survivors. Shane had assumed the role as leader. He divvied up jobs, often led exhibitions into the city remains for supplies, and taught some of the less skilled how to defend themselves against walkers. The people respected him, Carl adored him, and Lori… Lori snuck into his tent late one night and made his dreams a reality. She awoke him with her mouth before climbing on him and riding him to climax.

The old world had died and a new one arose. One where he was winning.

The weeks passed with relative ease. Well, as much ease as a zombie apocalypse could allow. He awoke every morning to people who hung on his every word; and spent nearly every night buried deep inside the woman he desired. He would gladly spend the rest of his life in this bliss.

 _The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away._ He should have really paid more attention in Sunday school.

Everything crumbled too quickly for him. One moment he was privately flirting with Lori and the next his heart sunk when Carl let out an excited, “Dad!” Shane froze when he saw Rick standing before them alive and seemingly healthy.

At first, he thought he was looking at a ghost. He never really believed in that sort of thing but in the present state of the world anything was possible. But when Rick wrapped his arms around him in tearful elation, allowing Shane to feel the solidness of his form, he knew that he was real. With this revelation came another one: his new world was over.

In private, Lori attacked him. She wanted to know why he lied, why he betrayed her. He spoke carefully. Making sure to say he “thought” and not “hoped” that Rick was dead. That wasn’t good enough for her. She turned to him for comfort and support and he used her. Plain and simple. Just like that, she grew cold again.

She and Rick spent his first night back in a shared tent. Shane walked the site trying to hold back his frustration and anger. Surely Rick was already deep inside of Lori. Kissing and touching her; making her sigh those sweet moans Shane had grown accustomed to. As the weeks wore on, Shane grew to hate the man.

Rick still saw them as brothers but to Shane they were mortal enemies. Rick had destroyed his new world. Turned him into the loser again. How could he possibly _still_ be the golden boy? How could he _still_ have everything? It was all one big fucking set up. God had pull the ultimate joke on him. But Shane would have the last laugh.

This new world wasn’t like the old one. New rules. All he had to do was get rid of the competition. Put Rick out of the picture permanently. With no other options, Lori would have to come back to him. It was all so simple. The others would be thankful as well. Rick had caused nothing but trouble. Appointing himself their new leader; walking over Shane like he was a dirt road. Compromising their camp ground. Their second safe haven was blown to shit. They spent weeks starving and homeless before landing on Hershel’s farm. Carl had been shot and nearly died under Rick’s watch; not to mention, he lost Carol’s little girl. But the cherry on the shit cake, was Rick assisting in Hershel’s delusion that the walkers were not dead but merely sick.

In a moment of annoyance and rage, Shane unlocked the barn where Hershel kept tens of walkers and, with the aid of the group, unloaded nearly all their ammunition into them. Hershel fell to the ground, comatose with despair. Yet Shane showed no remorse. It had to be done. To snap him and Rick out of their foolish blindness. How could this farm possibly be safe if danger sat a few feet from where they rested their heads?

Neither Hershel or Rick shared his views. For Hershel, Shane literally shot down his entire belief system. This heretic might as well have just ripped up the Bible before him, pissed on it, then set it aflame. It would have been the same heart wrenching effect. For Rick, he put the wellbeing of the entire group in jeopardy. Surely Hershel would not let them stay now.

He was right. The following morning, Hershel demanded their departure. The group tried to plead with him, Maggie did as well, but the man was stagnant in his position. The disrespect they showed him and his home would not be overlooked. Still Rick begged for clemency. He all but fell to his knees before the man. He quietly reminded the old man of his wife’s pregnancy. Neither she nor the baby would not survive in the wild in her condition. Hershel’s sympathies lied with the poor woman and he reluctantly agreed to let them stay on with the stipulation that Shane could not.

“I watched that man gleefully slaughter my family, friends, and neighbors,” Hershel said, his tone morose. “He took advantage of the last bit of my Christian hospitality. You, your wife, and your group can stay on for a bit more, but I want him gone by sundown.”

Shane didn’t take the news well. “What? Just me, huh?” He kicked at the ground. “You and that crazy old bastard should be thanking me! I woke your dumb asses back up to the real world, Rick!”

“You murdered his family, Shane!”

“Open you goddamn eyes, Rick! They were already dead!” He shook his head then let out a derisive laugh. “Nah, man.” He spat on the ground. “I ain’t leaving.”

“Shane…”

“I ain’t fucking leaving!” He looked up at the house and spoke even louder. “You tell that crazy old bastard if he wants me gone he better fucking do it himself!”

Rick grabbed his arm to calm him. “Shane! Enough! That right there is the reason why he wants you to leave!”

Shane eyed the firm grip on his upper arm in disgust. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

Rick didn’t budge. “Shane, listen brother, listen! This won’t be for long. Okay? We just… we gotta… we gotta do what needs to be done.”

Shane broke from his grasp. “Bullshit!” The slamming of the screen door diverted his attention. He looked up to see Hershel standing cross-armed on the porch, defiantly staring him down. “You crazy old fuck…” He marched towards the steps but Rick held him back. Shane wrestled against his grip but Rick hold remained firm. “You want me? Huh? You want me gone?” Shane shouted. “Then you better do it! You come down here and make me leave!”

“Rick, I suggest you calm your friend,” Hershel said.

“Shane! That’s enough!”

Shane once again freed himself but before he could get far Rick grabbed him again. “Let me go you sonabitch!” Rick still refused to listen. Shane, beyond annoyed, elbowed him in the nose.

Rick stumbled backward. Warm drops of blood trickled out of his left nostril but he wouldn't be deterred. He reached for his friend again but this time Shane would not be caught. He swung at him, hitting him square in the lip. “Leave it alone, Rick! Leave it alone!”

“Shane!” Rick yelled out before returning the punch. A hard pop in the jaw. Shane stumbled backward but didn't fall. He answered the hit with two more. Rick ducked the first, the second landed in his gut. Doubled over in pain, Rick looked up at his best friend and saw a person he didn't recognize. This wasn't the same kid he'd known his entire life. “Shane—” Before he could finish his sentence, Shane punched him again this time knocking him flat on his back.

Shane didn't cease his attack. “You want me gone, boy? Huh?” he screamed in his ex-pal's face before climbing atop him. He sent another strong punch to his side, followed by another, and a third.

Rick groaned in agony at each landing hit but wouldn't be put down so easily. Before Shane's forth hit could land, Rick knocked in his nose twice causing it to gush blood. Now he had the upper hand. “This... is why... you can't... stay...” he shouted between repeated pelts to Shane's torso. Rick was about to give Shane another rough punch but he caught it in his palm.

“Nah. That's not why.” He head-butted Rick causing the man to roll off of him. They both rubbed their throbbing temples but Shane wouldn't let the opportunity to gain the upper hand pass. He climbed back atop Rick and resumed his assault. “You know without me around.... you won't have anyone questioning you! And your bullshit!”

By now the rest of the others had gathered around to witness the event. They shouted out demands for both men to stop but neither would listen to reason. Both were covered in sweat, dirt, and splattered blood. This wasn't an escalated argument about who deserved to stay or leave the farm. This was a literal power struggle. One that had been building for years. Neither man would stop until the other was properly incapacitated--someone had to get knocked out or worse.

“This is ridiculous," Lori said as she watched her husband and ex-lover squabble. “Someone stop this!” She looked at Hershel but he shook his head. He didn't like the scene any more than she did but he was far too old to get involved. Any attempt would put him in great physical harm. 

“That's it!” Andrea called out before hopping down the stairs.

“Wait,” Lori called after her, “what are you gonna do?”

“I'm gonna put an end to it.”

“You could get hurt.” It was no secret the two women weren't very fond of each other but that didn't mean Lori wanted to see her harmed.

“Someone has to do something,” Andrea retorted before pulling out her gun and shooting the ground.

The echoing shot surprised both men and effectively ceased their warring. Andrea pulled Rick off of Shane with a grunt; Lori tried to help Shane up but he snatched his arm away. He stumbled slow to his feet then leaned against the house for support. He wiped his face with the back of his dirtied, blooded hand then spat twice on the ground.

Hershel marched down the steps and stood between the two men. He shook his head at the sad display before him. “Rick, go get cleaned up. I'll see to your wounds after dinner.” Rick nodded his thanks then, with the help of Lori and Andrea, shuffled towards the house. Hershel turned to Shane. “And you...” His tone was cold and surly. “Leave this place now.”

“What?” Andrea asked leaving Lori to support Rick's weight on her own. “You... you can't just throw him out.”

“Young lady this is my land and I can do what—”

“Yeah I know it's your land. I don't mean that. I mean... where is he supposed to go? You know what the world is like out there.”

“He should have thought about that before he destroyed my family.” His tone grew darker with every spoken word. It was clear that he was trying to maintain his patience.

“Family? What—you mean those walkers?”

“No, not walkers!” His voice rose an octave but he was still shy of yelling.

“Yes! Yes, that's what they were! I know you don't like to hear that but... how can you still believe, after what you witness, that they were still human?”

“They were my wife, step-son, friends—”

“They were the walking dead!” Andrea screamed. She around at the others in desperation. Someone had to help her help him realize.

“Not. To. Me!” He was yelling now. Hershel pointed to Shane. “Your friend here took them away! Took my hope away! If you think for one second I'll let him stay here another day—”

“Well then you better send me away too.”

“Andrea!” Rick said in shock.

“No, Rick. I shot them too. So did T-Dog. So did Daryl. So did Glenn!” She signaled to him with her hand. Glenn's eyes widened with fear. He and Maggie clasped hands. What was she doing? He didn't want to be sent away. He didn't want to leave this new life and his new girlfriend behind.

“Andrea, you don't understand!”

“You're right, Rick. I don't. Why send just Shane away?”

“Because that was the deal!” The group shared a collective gasp.

“What?” Andrea asked. “What deal?” She crossed her arms and awaited his reply.

Rick looked around at the many faces staring at him. They all wanted an explanation. Rick looked at his feet defeated. His body was burning in agony, his knees threatened to buckle at any moment. He was not in the mood for this argument but he knew he couldn't enter the house without giving them a proper answer.

“What deal?” Glenn prodded when too much time passed. “Rick...”

“I told him that the only way for y'all to stay was if Shane left,” Hershel answered.

“Daddy!" Maggie said in surprise. “You can't do that.”

“I can, darling, and I did. He's a troublemaker and I won't have any of that here.”

“But, Daddy—”

“No, buts. Either he leaves in the next hour or they all leave.” Hershel stormed up the stairs. “My mind is made up.” The screen door slammed behind him as he entered the house.

“I'll talk to him,” Maggie assured Glenn before pecking him on the lips. In truth, she did not care about Shane leaving--and honestly hopped he would--but she feared that he would refuse and she'd lose Glenn. She started to head inside but Shane stopped her.

“Don't bother.” He spat more blood on the ground. “He wants me gone—y’all all want me gone—then fine!” He tried to storm off but his body was still in great pain. He groaned and nearly fell to the ground again but Andrea held him up. A part of him wanted to push her away, to say that he could do it alone; but another part, the one that was in agony, wouldn't let his pride turn away needed assistance. He thanked her with a nod then turned back to Rick. “That man will never learn. You're putting your family in danger. I hope it's worth it.”

“I'm coming with you,” Andrea told him while she helped him pack.

Shane chuckled. “Are you now?”

“Yes. What's so funny?”

“Nothing... Nothing. It's just... Look, I appreciate your help back there, for sticking up for me and all but—”

“I didn't stick up for you. I was doing what was right. He has no right to turn you away because you showed him the truth.”

Shane smiled again. “Well, either way. I can't let you do this.”

She stuffed the last of his clean shirts into his duffel bag then faced him. “Shane, listen, you were right, okay? Hershel is... he's in very deep denial. It's gonna get him killed. It's gonna get them all killed but if they don't want to use common sense then why should I stick around and die with them?”

“So just like that you're leaving?”

“I wanted to leave weeks ago. I have no family and these people...” She finished her statement with a shrug. “You and I, we're survivors. True survivors. We're willing to do what it takes. If we stick together, we can make the best of this hell. So what do you say?”

Shane shook his head and laughed again. “You're a stubborn one, aren't you?”

“So I've been told,” she replied with a broad smile. “Is that a yes?”

He looked out the windows at the setting sun. “I don't really have time to argue so... why the hell not?”

It was dark before the two finally set off. Maggie fixed them some food that, if rationed properly, could keep them until the end of the week. Glenn gave them extra guns and some first aid to tend to both Shane's wounds and any scraps they might get along the way. Dale offered to drop them off at the nearest town but not before begging Andrea to reconsider. She was adamant in her decision and pleaded for him to let it be. Just this once. He agreed to not pester her but gave her his favorite book before she left. A small reminder of him and the group.

Carl didn't want Shane to go. He held onto his waist and cried into his shirt. Shane was still in too much pain to squat down and console him properly. Instead he wiped his tear and reminded him to be strong for his mother. “This won't be the last of me, kid,” he promised. “I'll be back and it will all be better.” Carl sniffed and nodded but wouldn't ease his grip. Lori had to pull him away.

There were so many things Shane wanted to say to her but she wouldn't have it. She held up her hand. “Don't. Just... just go.”

He and Rick spoke no words. No apologies or tearful farewells. They stared at one another. Another quiet competition. Shane finally broke the stare with a scoff before shuffling off to the RV and driving off into the night, into uncertainty.

The duo managed to survive for a little over a month on their own. Their food and medical supplies ran out quickly. The only good thing was that they had found a working car to hold up in. But most towns they ran into were either too overrun with the dead to scavenge or had already been looted dry. They sustained themselves on old found canned goods and any ripe fallen fruit they happened upon.

One day, while out supply hunting they were nearly enclosed by a heard of fifty walkers. Even though they were both weak from hunger, they managed to escape and hide out. They were stuck on the second floor of a building and had no other exit options except the window that led to a hard drop. The fall wouldn't kill them but it would seriously hurt them. It wasn't a risk either was willing to take so they waited the herd out. They arose the next morning to the sound of screaming. Andrea looked out the window and saw a young woman failing to fight off three walkers. Shane told her to let it be. They would eat her, move on, and later they could collect her goods. It was a smart plan but Andrea took pity on the woman. In a way she reminded her of her sister Amy.

Majority of the walkers holding them hostage in the building had moved on. Andrea expertly took down the remaining few. Shane, not wanting his partner to die, helped her. They made it out of the building safely but the screaming woman was drawing more attention to her. Shane and Andrea only had a few bullets between them. They were able to knife a few but they would be overrun in no time. “Hey! Hey!” Andrea called out to the woman. “Shut up and fucking run! Follow us!” The woman, grateful for the help, obeyed and followed the duo down an alley and into the back entrance of the building they camped out in the night before. They quickly ran up the stairs and back into the room they hid in.

 Once inside they barricaded the door for security. “We have to stay here another night,” Shane said as he rested against the wall. “There’s no way in hell we’ll make it out now.”

Andrea looked out the window and saw the large horde moving towards their building. “I doubt we’ll make it out tomorrow either. With the way it’s looking down there we’ll be stuck here for days.”

“Fuck.” Shane slumped to the floor. “Hey! Hey, you!” he called to the other woman. “You got some food in that bag?” The woman didn’t respond at first. She was staring at something on her hand. “Hey! Can you talk?” The woman sniffed then broke into a full cry. “Oh shit. Shh!”

“Stop it!” Andrea reprimanded. “They’ll hear you.”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” the woman stuttered between sobs. “It’s just… it’s…” She showed them her hand. Her wrist was bleeding badly.

“Oh shit!” Shane repeated. “She’s bitten! Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Andrea scolded. “They’ll hear you too.”

“It won’t stop bleeding. I keep trying but it won’t stop,” the woman cried. She tore at her shirt and wrapped the scrap around her palm but the blood soaked right through. “Am I… Am I gonna…?”

Andrea nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” She turned back to Shane. “What do we do?”

“What we have to.” He rose to his feet and pulled out his knife. The woman shrieked at the sight of the dirty blade. Shane covered her mouth. “Shh… This’ll be quick.” He raised the knife, ready to strike, but Andrea held him back.

“No. Wait. We let her turn first.”

“What? Why? So she can come back and attack us while we sleep?”

“I don’t wanna die here! I don’t wanna die here!” the woman frantically repeated.

“Well, you’re gonna,” Shane said. “One way or another.”

“Shane, no!” Andrea snatched the knife from him.

“Give me back my knife. I don’t want to fight you, Andrea, but I will if you make me.”

“No. Look at her.”

Shane rolled his eyes then studied the woman. She sat rocking herself, repeating “I don’t wanna die here” in a catatonic state. “What the fuck am I looking for here? What you going soft on me now?”

“No. I mean look at her clothes. They’re clean. So is her skin. I can smell her shampoo from here. She’s well fed…”

Shane’s eyes widened with realization. “She has a place!”

“She has a place,” Andrea repeated with a broad smile. “All we need is to get her to lead us to it.”

“Nah,” Shane scoffed. “Nah, girl, that’s impossible. First of all, look at her. She’s scared outta her mind. She ain’t telling us shit. And even if she could, how do we get outta here?”

Andrea paced the room in thought. “I got it! Remember back at the campsite, when we told y’all how we got out of the city?”

“Vaguely.”

“Look just trust me. I know how we’ll make it out alive. We just need her to cooperate.”

Andrea sighed heavily. This was going to be difficult. “Hey!” She waved her hand in front of the young woman’s face. “Hey! Look at me.” The woman continued rocking and muttering to herself. Andrea held her in place. “Can you hear me?” Still nothing. “Hey!” She grabbed the woman’s face and forced her to look at her. “Listen to me. Listen!” The woman stopped rocking but continued mumbling. “Look, I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. But we’re gonna get you out of here alive. We’ll get you back home safe but you gotta do exactly what I say, understand?” The woman nodded. “No, I need to hear you say it.”

The woman let out a shaky, “I understand.”

“Good. Now, Shane. I need you to unbar the door and drag in three walkers.”

“What? I already don’t like this plan.”

“Just trust me.”

Shane obeyed her commands with great reluctance. There were a couple of dead walkers sitting by the door. He dragged them into the room. A third laid on the floor near the stairwell. He debated on making the distance since he could hear the growls of live walkers a floor below. He didn’t want to alert them to their presence any more than they already had. Andrea offered to help him. If they moved quickly they wouldn’t run the risk of getting heard. Luckily they managed to move the body without drawing any attention.

Once back in their hiding spot, Andrea made haste at cutting open the bodies. She pulled out in their intestines and covered herself in them and the rotting flesh. She instructed Shane and the young woman to do the same. Shane nearly vomited at the smell but it didn’t deter him from following suit. However, when it was the young woman’s turn, she flat out refused.

“No. No. It’s gross. They smell awful. I won’t do it.”

Shane had enough of Andrea’s soft approach. He pressed the woman against the wall, placed the dirty knife at her throat and commanded, “Do it. Or I’ll kill you here and take your shit and there’s not a goddamn thing she,” he signaled Andrea with his head, “can do to stop me.” He pulled back then stabbed open the walker at her feet. “Dig.” The young woman reached in this time without hesitation.

When they were fully covered in filth, it was time to move on to the next part of the plan. Andrea stood at the door, hand on knob. “Remember, walk slow and be quiet. A tiny peep could give us away, understand?” The question was aimed at the young woman. She nodded but it was obvious she was still afraid. Her lithe body visibly trembled. She held onto Shane’s arm for comfort and support. “Before I open the door where were they supposed to meet you again?”

“O-on the corner of Fifth and West. There’s a van. They’ll be waiting.”     

Andrea took a deep breath then opened the door. The trio slowly made their way down the hall. At the foot of the stairs were a group of walkers waiting. It seemed they hadn’t thought to make their way upstairs yet. Shane and Andrea signaled to each other with silent head bobs that they were ready to forge their way into the deep.

They carefully ascended downstairs. The fifth step creaked when Andrea stepped on it causing a few walkers to turn their way. The trio paused as the dead growled at the sound but made no effort to attack. That was a good sign. They continued down gently pushing into the crowd. The walkers hissed, growled, some even moved towards them as if to capture them before moving onward. They managed to make it out of the building but the outside crowd was even tougher. There were a lot more than were packed inside the tiny building. There were also more obstacles and opportunities for the trio to draw attention to themselves.

The ground was littered with debris. They had to be care moving around it. One accidental kick of a can here or a step in the wrong place there and they’d be goners. The sun was beginning to set making their walk more difficult. Andrea had a flashlight in her bag but of course that was out of the question. No artificial lights, no excess sounds. Not even a whimper.

They were almost at the end of the street. Just five blocks away from their designated street. They could turn off on one of the side roads to rest and maybe find a shortcut. But they only had to make it the end of this one spot.

The young woman clung to Shane’s arm so tight that her nails dug into his skin. So far she was doing a great job at controlling her fear. Sure there were times she wanted to scream when a walker growled in her face or knocked against her as it passed, but she remained quiet. Shane continued to drag her forward. Meanwhile, she took the time to study a couple of passing faces.

She had never seen them this close up before. Well, not without being in panic mode. A couple were fresh like they had just turned a day or so ago. Most, though, were long into their decaying. One bumped into her and she stared into its milky white, filmy eye. She could almost see a hint of the color it used to be. Blue? Maybe green? Its hair was stringy and she wondered what the previous texture had been. Was it course? Curly? What color did it use to be? Black or brown? Were they a blonde like her? Did they dye it wonderful colors? What were they like before they came to be this thing?

She remembered the bite on her hand and a great sadness overcame her. They were like her. All of them. People with lives and dreams and ambitions. Now they’re just… freaks. Abominations with an insatiable hunger for flesh. She would be that soon. Or maybe not. She knew people got sick—real sick—after a bite or scratch. Other than being covered in this ungodly gunk, she felt fine. Maybe she would be fine until the world figured out a cure. There was hope. She wouldn’t have to turn into one of these creatures. She could live!

The young woman was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t see Andrea and Shane step around a large chunk of debris in the road. The toe of her shoe caught on it and sent her falling to the ground with a loud shriek.

Panic thumped in the trio’s chests. They were close. Oh so close.

One by one, the surrounding walkers turned to the sound. They saw the woman struggling to get up first. One reached out for her, grabbed her by the backpack. Its jaw opening and closing in reflex. Fear settled in swiftly. With it she let out another scream. More walkers turned their attention to the group now. “Help me!” she shouted as she tried to free herself from the walker’s grasp. “Help me!” She reached out a hand to the duet.

Shane and Andrea shared a glance. What could they do? They could stay and try to fight and risk getting devoured as well. They could try to continue on with the charade but there was no telling if the walkers had picked up on it yet. They couldn’t tell if they were closing in on all three of them or just the poor woman. They could still make it. A walker pulling at Andrea settled the issue for them. They had been made. There was nothing to do now but fight and run to the van.

Another dead grabbed and bit into the young woman’s arm. She let out a loud howl. She continued to reach out to Shane and Andrea. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

Shane looked at Andrea. “There’s an alley the next street over. We can duck through there if we hurry.” Shane nodded that he understood exactly what she meant. He reached out to the young woman. She reached for his hand in relief but he dodged her grasp. Instead he ripped her bag from her shoulders. He mumbled out a weak apology, stabbed a few surrounding walkers, then sprinted to catch up to Andrea. The young woman continued to cry out in pain as the creatures ripped into her.

Night had fallen by the time Andrea and Shane made it to Fifth Street. They were exhausted, weak from hunger and expelling of energy they didn’t have. Plus, they weren’t sure if the van would still be there after all this time. So it was a blessed surprise when they reached the street’s intersection with West Avenue, and found a large white van waiting. The back door opened and two men, stepped out.

“Who are you?” the shorter one asked.

“We’re… tired…” Andrea answered between pants.

The man nodded and helped them in. “We have a place y’all can stay.” He peeped the bag in Shane’s hand and recognized it immediately. “Yo,” he yanked the bag from him, “isn’t this Rory’s bag?”

“Yeah, Xavier, I think it is.”

“Where’d you get this?” Xavier asked. “Where is she?”

“We tried to save her,” Shane replied. “We were trapped. She,” he nodded to Andrea, “came up with a plan to try to get through the herd. That’s why we’re still covered in their shit. But it didn’t work. She got caught. She gave us the bag. We tried to help her, man.” Xavier exchanged a look with the other passengers. He wasn’t sure if he could believe the man. Shane noticed his expression. “Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

Xavier looked at Andrea. She bobbed her head. “Yeah, it happened just like he said. We were overrun. That poor girl didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Xavier’s face fell. The news saddened him but he wouldn’t give into the sorrow now. He climbed into the van, shut the door, then signaled for the driver to take off.

They arrived at a place called Cape Town. It was a two story gated lodge house. The people were friendly, for the most part. There were many who were understandably suspicious of outsiders. Despite this, they didn't make too much trouble for the duo. They recognized the couple was weak, weary, and hungry from surviving in the wilderness; so they welcomed them in for asylum. Dr. Meyers promptly tended to Shane and Andrea’s wounds then fed them and assigned them a tent. They were so happy to finally be in a place to rest their heads they slept for two days. It didn't take long for the duo to acquaint themselves to the camp’s rules; and within a month’s time, Shane rose as its new leader. (Their old one was ripped to shreds by some walkers on an outing.) Though he could be tough, he was often applauded for his tactical thinking and care. He was everything their old leader wasn't. Even if they didn't always agree with his decisions, the people respected them and him.

A rapid knock at the door brought Shane’s focus back to the present. He turned to see Andrea leaned against the door frame. “So I heard that Xavier brought someone home.”

“Some scavenger they ran into.”

“Yeah. I also heard you had some reservations about taking her in.”

“With good reason.”

“She doesn’t look dangerous.”

“Doesn’t mean she ain’t.” He turned back to the window. This time he saw a puff of smoke rising in the distance. He frowned in confusion at the sight of it and made a mental note to look into it later.

“So… what are you gonna do about the girl?”

“I don’t know. She can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t have the supplies to take care of another person.”

“We have more than we would’ve a couple of weeks ago.”

He turned to her in disgust. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. We both know we lost a lot of people that night. Too many. But we have the means to take care of one more.”

“And how do you know she’s not a ploy for another group trying to get past our walls?”

“I don’t.” Andrea walked into the room and stood by him. “You and I know we’ve done a lot of wrong to survive but… but in case she _isn’t_ just another feral scavenger…”

“And what if she is?”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes Shane could be like a starving dog with a bone. Once he had something in his grasp he wouldn’t let it go. She gently grabbed his chin then placed a quick peck on his lips causing him to smile. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arm across the small of her back. He puckered his lips to kiss her again but she placed a finger to them. “If she turns out to be a threat—”

Shane rolled his eyes and let out a loud groan. Why were they still talking about this? If it had been anyone else questioning his leadership, he would’ve shut them down fast. But Andrea had repeatedly proven herself to be an excellent right hand man. Therefore, he allowed her the freedom to question him. On more than one occasion, she had even been known to sway him. “ _When_ she turns out to be a threat,” he goaded.

“Okay. _When_. When that happens we’ll handle it like we’ve done everything else. She fucks up, she’s walker food. But first, we give her the benefit of the doubt.” He groaned again. “Shane… It’s literally the least we can do for her. Cape Town did it for us.”

He shook his head, hesitant to concede to her. But he knew she was equally as stubborn. If he didn’t agree now she would hound him until he did. “Goddammit, fine! Fine. She can stay but just for a few days.”

She smiled then kissed him again. “I knew you’d see it my way.” She scratched at the stubble on his face then ease out of his embrace. “Now wash up. Trish and Deanna says dinner will be ready in a few.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a weak smile as he watched her exit the room. The smile dropped from his lips and he turned his attention back to the window. He watched the black smoke clouds billow towards the darkening sky. He rubbed the back of his head as he reflected on them. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is an AU, I decided to play around with some facts as well as the timeline. In this version Shane does not know Lori is pregnant because, lbr, if he did he would not have left meaning the cannon would have been left unaffected.


End file.
